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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26860273">A burning hill</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkvinyls/pseuds/pinkvinyls'>pinkvinyls</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Anakin Skywalker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Obi-Wan gives it to him, Pining, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:54:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,280</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26860273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkvinyls/pseuds/pinkvinyls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin Skywalker lives two lives, one in the day and one in the night. No matter how hard he tries to convince himself that only one is real while the other is nothing but a dream, a nightmare that robs him of his sleep, he is so overwhelmed by the guilt of what he has done, by a hatred so strong it makes him breathless and by a sorrow much too profound to bear, that his life begins to fall apart and the fractures run so deep, so prominent that he has lost any and all control over it. </p><p>On a night like any other, he sees a familiar face. The face of the man who had lost everything because of him, the face of the man who had professed his love in spite of it. The face of Obi-Wan Kenobi.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>143</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Part I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm back again and I've finally begun the reincarnation au I've wanted to write since day one.</p><p>Anyways, have fun reading and tell me what you think!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Seven- no, eleven minutes have passed and the bottom of his glass still looks much the same. Anakin hates the Monday nights the most, too many people, too many orders and it all just amounts to more and more waiting time before he has his glass refilled. Its empty state is mocking him, taunting him,  so much that he is beginning to feel that he’s only seconds away from erupting in his frustration. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His glass weighs nothing in his hands as he keeps turning it, spinning it, as he keeps doing anything possible to stop himself from winding his fingers around it and tightening his grip until it breaks into thousand little pieces that will only litter the counter, the ground, sharp edges, cutting fragments needling the sole of his feet, the palms of his hands. But in that state, the glass could no longer sneer at his woeful state, could it? Why can’t it just understand that he simply wants to forget? Forget the pain, the shame, the anger, he wants to drown it all out, until there is nothing left. Why won’t it understand? It’s such a simple thing to want, so simple and yet so hard to achieve. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And now, after the nightmares have only been growing worse, his nights have become more and more sleepless. His only remedy to this awful insomnia is to swallow down whatever his glass is filled with. Only the alcohol can numb him, so that the dreams can’t reach him, can’t touch his mind and make him into something he is not, something he should not be, something he hates to be. The thing that cost him more than he can ever gain back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a sigh so heavy it drags his body down, he rests his head on the counter and although its smooth surface is sticky with spilled drinks and leftovers of the bar snacks, he does not care at all and remains with the side of his head pressed flat against it, huffing out breath after breath, while he feels the painful tug of thirst. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the end, it takes sixteen minutes for his sixth refill, but the burn in the back of his throat becomes all the more impecable for it, its taste lasts longer on his tongue, bitter and strong. Once, he had hated the bitter taste of liquor so much, had detested the slow burn of it and feared the inevitable nausea before each, tentative swallow. There is none of the disgust left, no aversion has persisted over the time, how could it? Drink after drink, he has grown more than used to the bitterness. For him, these drinks are nothing but an acquired taste, one that he can’t do without now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few seconds have passed, ten at most, and he’s back at square one, his glass once again empty, giving him the same toothless, gaping grin that threatens to shatter it, faster than his own hands could ever manage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With his elbow on the counter, he rests his forehead on his palm and soon his eyes begin to sting, however, he doesn’t blink to elevate the pain, he just stares ahead, at some murky, filthy spot on the wall, the outline of it is stark, strong, rising from the plain, white background. It stands out, it draws attention to itself, but it only garners pity from its surrounding wall, from its spectators. The kind of pity that comes from somewhere above, some place higher than he can reach. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Look at you, the wall laughs, look at how low you have fallen! Look at you, it says, you will never recover from your fall! Look at you, it whispers, I know I will never stoop so low.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The filthy spot vanishes from his sight and all he can see is the faded black of some used up, washed shirt. He raises his head, chin leaning on his palm as he stares at the bartender, face so numb and unmoving that he wonders just how unnerving it must be to look at him right now. He remembers being feared, being loathed and he remembers relishing in the hatred and fear all around him, he remembers it all from his nightmares, but right now he is anything but fear evoking and too weak in his insobriety to be any kind of target of hatred.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He raises his empty glass for his seventh refill, but the bartender pushes his hand down and takes the glass out of his grip. He stares down at Anakin, from somewhere above, some place higher than he can reach, and says in a lowered, hushed voice: “You’ve had more than enough.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin glares at the bartender, a middle aged man already past his prime, and sighs, pushing himself off the barstool but without moving to leave. This bartender is the only one who still tries to make him stop and breaches any boundaries and abandons all forms of professionalism whenever he does so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin overstays his welcome, for the bartender offers him his final words. “Look at yourself, young man. Don’t you have work to do? Don’t you have to study? This past month you have been here almost every night and drink without any restraint. It’s pitiful enough to watch as a stranger, I wonder how your family must feel.” The man pauses in his lecture and huffs, wiping off his hands on his jeans. He leans forward and rests his hands on the counter, way too close to Anakin’s. The bartender gives him a considerate look and his eyes linger on him, long enough for his gaze to become tasteless and more than unwelcome. “You know, the only reason we still tolerate your presence in this bar is your pretty face. It’s a pity that there’s not much else to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a scowl, he turns away sharply, too inebriated to think of anything clever to say to counter the man’s rude words. He stumbles his way through the dense crowd, trying to avoid any touch if possible, knowing he’ll fail miserably at it anyway, so he endures the brush of shoulder against shoulder, arm against arm and the occasional straying hand that finds its way to places of his body that no stranger should touch. He endures it all until he pushes the door open and gulps down the cold, fresh air that rushes inside. Before he can take his first step outside, a sudden heaviness settles on his mind, causing him to falter, to hesitate and stand still at the threshold. It was just a flicker, just a passing moment, but… He turns around and peers back into the crowd, eyes searching for someone he dares not to name, someone he dares not to know, not again. Someone his mind probably made up, someone that only exists in his most blissful dreams and his bleakest nightmares, but he could have sworn that he saw </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin heads back into the bar and chooses a reclusive corner, leaning back against a wall as he keeps looking out for </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the memories of his dreams, of that other life that has destroyed him once more, they bind him to this seedy place, the threads of each moment from that damnable realm wind themselves around him while the world around him spins, but only so much that he is not completely overwhelmed by the rising nausea. It simply adds layers to all that surrounds him, the wall at his back is cushioned, the ground beneath him is sunken in at his feet and the people who stroll past him walk through a fog, he can barely see them nor hear their words out, it’s all just background noise in the face of the hot flush of shame, the heavy weight of his guilt and this impossible grief that manages to wrench the comfortable numbness from his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the end, he waits and waits, overwhelmed and out of it, but the threads still hold him tense and taut, so he keeps still, he remains quiet, while the storm brewing inside of him grows with each second that passes without seeing </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>again and ridding himself of any doubt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It must be something around eighteen minutes as far as he can tell. Eighteen minutes. Eighteen and from the fog, something in the shape of a face shows itself, rising from the dull, plain background to the very foreground of his blurred vision. Anakin looks up at him, he’s somewhere above, some place higher than him, but he’s not out of reach. Anakin curses his intoxicated state, his haggard face, his crumbling body, his bloodshot eyes. Such a pathetic man he has become!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Propelled forward by the presence of the man he knows he has no right to approach, Anakin dives into the crowd, chasing after the face swimming just above the surface of the heavy fog. He wants- he needs to see more of him, he feels as though he could almost recall him on his own and name him, but this man, this stranger that should only exist in his sleep, he resides at a place in his heart he cannot yet enter, at some hidden corner in his mind that’s lost to him and yet, here he stands, right in front of him and he’s looking right back at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin takes a small step towards him, gripping his own wrist to have something to hold onto as the memories rush back into him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Obi-Wan?” he breathes out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man furrows his brows and tilts his head to the side slightly, eyeing him with open curiosity. “It’s Ben, actually,” he says, slowly and loud. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Anakin lowers his head and clenches his jaw, balling his hands into fists. His throat seems to constrict around nothing, it grows tight and soon the stale, warm air inside this rundown bar is not enough for him to breathe and he’s almost left gasping for air, chest heaving up and down too quickly. “I’m sorry,” he brings forth forcefully, eyes still averted, before he runs out of the bar into the coldness of the night, almost falling over in his hurry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once outside, he stumbles into the narrow alleyway right next to the bar and leans against the wall and winds his hand around his throat, messaging the tense muscles of his neck as he tries to calm down, but the world around spins faster than before, the fog is thick enough to blind him and he feels completely lost and strangely abandoned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With his hand still around his throat, he glides down the wall and sits on the cold, hard asphalt of this narrow street. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was him! There’s no doubt at all about the identity of that man. It’s the same auburn blond hair, the same deep blue eyes, the same kind face that has</span>
  <em>
    <span> always</span>
  </em>
  <span> taken care of him in his dreams. But Obi-Wan had looked at him and seen a </span>
  <em>
    <span>stranger.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Him, Anakin, nothing but a stranger, when he should be everything to that man! He should be his student, his brother, his everything! But now he’s nothing at all, not any different than all those other people who fill that cursed bar. Anakin can’t take being nothing to him, he can’t bear to have Obi-Wan’s eyes on him with nothing but distant curiosity in them! There should be warmth, love or even disappointment, rage, just anything that promises him that Obi-Wan knows him too, but what he had found had been nothing but his apathy and so what else could he have done but run away? And now he’s here, alone in some dark alleyway, finally losing the last shred of his sanity, the last of his doubt that his dreams simply couldn’t be true, that he could have never done what he did in his nightmares, that he was not a monster. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a sob from somewhere deep within, he throws his head back and hits the wall again and again. Thinking, reminding himself and allowing him no reprieve, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he doesn’t know me! I’m nothing to him! Nothing but a stranger! Nothing at all!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” a voice sounds, clear and strong through the fog that surrounds his mind. The familiarity in that tone yanks him out of his painful thoughts and draws all his attention to its source. With an outstretched hand, this man, Ben, as he has called himself, stands right in front of him. “Let me help you up. It’s no good to sit at the ground when it’s this cold outside, especially since you also have no jacket to keep you warm.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Confused, Anakin narrows his eyes at him and quickly wipes away the traces his tears must have left behind on his skin. The longer he stares at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ben’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>face, the angrier he becomes. How dare he not know him! After all they’ve been through, all the pain, the joy and, </span>
  <em>
    <span>god,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the betrayals, how can he not remember him? Even if this is somehow another life, another universe, if Anakin still knows all that came before, why can’t Obi-Wan do the same. It’s just not fair! Why should he be the only one burdened with the past? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin swats the outstretched hand away and tries to stand up on his own, but after all the drinks, all the recent turmoils, he has such poor control over his muscles that he falls forward once he’s almost on his feet. He lands not on the ground, but ends up against the chest of this man wearing the face of Obi-Wan. Ben has wound his arms around his body to keep him from sliding down to the ground again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t even pull the strength together to free himself from the man’s hold, there’s no way he could stand on his own. He’s becoming more and more lax in Ben’s arms, there is a disconnect, a disruption that cuts his mind from his body. He wants to escape this impenetrable fog, this befuddling haze around his eyes that blinds him, but it’s only growing stronger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Possessed by the sudden and intense need to see this man’s face again, Anakin barely manages to lift his head from Ben’s chest and gaze into that familiar face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why won’t you remember me, Obi-Wan?” he asks with trembling lips and eyes that shine with unshed tears. He buries his fingers into the man’s shirt and pulls him even closer, staring into his dispassionate, distant face. “Why?” he says once more, begging, pleading with his eyes as he feels the last of his strength leave him bit by bit until his hands slacken and fall to the side and his eyes fall shut.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s unbearingly cold now, the only thing keeping him warm is the body pressed against his. He waits for the warmth to disappear, to be abandoned to the dark coldness of this narrow alleyway, but the warmth, it stays with him and shelters him from the cold, the dark, from this lonely night. Anakin gives himself over to it, unable to resist, and relaxes. His consciousness slowly ebbs away as he falls asleep and Obi-Wan’s arms, they are still around him, holding him. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Part II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was so much fun to write, I literally couldn't stop, so thanks again for the lovely comments!</p><p>Also, I hope you will have just as much fun reading this!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>The scent of soldering iron and sudden bursts of sulphur, fiery explosions of red all around, a never ending stream of heat, of fire that melts everything it touches into nothingness and in the midst of all this chaos, Anakin fights, he fights with such abandon, with so much blind rage that he has lost himself completely to it, but he knows he’s fighting for a just cause, he knows that he has done the right thing and now that he has reached a point of no return, there is no way he can ever look back, he is only beholden to the future and for the future of this galaxy, he will fight. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>After all, peace has its price and he has paid it fully, but to have his most beloved betray him, it's a price he had not been prepared to pay. They should have understood him! They should have seen beyond the lies they’ve been fed for so long! They should have chosen him! Him over everything else!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For this betrayal, Obi-Wan will have to die and he will die by his hand. It’s the only way he will allow Obi-Wan to leave him and so he jumps against his Master’s warning, as high as he can to dish out the finishing blow, their final exchange as Master and Padawan.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>However, before he has the chance to land on his two feet, Obi-Wan’s lightsaber slices through his limbs, one by one, so quickly that the realisation of what has happened dawns on him when his body is already burning on the ground of this sweltering planet. The pain comes first, it rips through him and robs him of his air, the severity of it almost blinds him and he can only grab onto the scorching soil, he can only try to crawl this burning hill up to keep himself from being engulfed by the magma flowing just a few inches beneath him and feel as he sinks ever lower.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Throughout all of this, Obi-Wan stands above him, face distorted to a grimace that Anakin cannot recognize, he has never seen it before, he cannot bring himself to understand it. Obi-Wan stands there and stares down at him, from somewhere above, some place higher than he can reach. ‘I loved you,’ Obi-Wan shouts, but when Anakin calls for help, he turns around and leaves him there. He leaves him burning, bleeding, dying. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a scream, Anakin rips his eyes open, unable to breathe, unable to move. He grabs his chest with his right hand, touching unharmed skin, where there should be charred flesh. He darts his eyes to his left arm and lower to his legs and a choked sob escapes him then. Why can’t he move them? Why can’t he breathe? It was just a dream, a dream, a dream and nothing else! Why won’t he wake up? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The flames are still licking the skin off his flesh and turning it to char. The impossible heat of that wretched planet, it hasn’t vanished, it’s right with him, in him even. He has swallowed down all the chaos, all the calamity and heat of that planet and now it just won’t leave him, instead it grows with each night. There’s a monster in him, just under the surface of his skin and he fears that one day, it will slice that last layer open with its sharp claws and escape from under his control. That day will come, it will and he will lose, once again, he will lose everything to it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin quickly moves his right hand to his lips and opens his mouth. He bites down until he breaks skin and blood floods his tongue. It’s not metal, not oil, but flesh and blood. Not metal, but flesh. He repeats this mantra, until a sigh of relief escapes him and he takes his first breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He heaves his body to the side and moves his numb legs over the bed frame until his feet touch the ground. When he tries to stand up, nausea flushes through him, but he forces himself to endure it and clings to the wall right next to him. Step for step, he fights his way to the door and as soon as he has reached its threshold and turned its handle down, he looks around himself for the first time and wonders where he is. Confusion surges through him and around him, the scent of miasma and metal rises, threatening to throw him back into that realm. It's an acidic scent that burns its way through his nose, it makes his eyes sting and tear up. He's burning up again, the heat is rising, growing. Oh, god, this heat will consume him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Out of a sudden, his legs give in and he falls to his knees and soon his upper body follows. Anakin tilts his head up and his eyes land on the room across this unknown foyer. A bathroom. Water! Just what he needs. Throwing his right arm forward, he clings to the wooden floor and pulls himself towards the bathroom. It’s a slow, torturous process, he has to fight for each inch, burying his nails again and again to move ahead.   </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With no way to tell the time gone by, he has no idea how long he took to reach the bathroom, but when he does, he’s out of breath and bathing in his own sweat. His right arm aches under the strain he put it through, its muscles are painfully tense, but he still has to rely on it to lift himself up on his unfeeling legs, leaning on the sink, afraid it will break under the weight of his upper body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He moves his trembling left hand to the faucet and pushes it up, until the water rains down from it in a constant and fast stream. When he feels that his legs will be able to carry him, he lets go of the sink and puts his hands together under the faucet, throwing the cold water on his face to cool the fever flowing through his veins. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He does it again and again, until his arms have grown too weak to carry on. Taking a deep breath, he tilts his head back. His eyes fall on the small bathroom mirror right in front of him and his reflection stares right back at him. Those bloodshot eyes with that undeniably yellow tint to them are so piercing and yet so glacial as they stare back at him. The skin around them, the skin of his face begins to blister and dry and break off, crumbling down to the ground. His face, his head, everything is burning. He brings his hand close to his face and hesitates just shy of a touch before he tentatively lays a finger on it. It doesn’t hurt at all and all he feels is unmarred skin, but his reflection, why…? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin palms his face with both of his hands, feeling along his features as his eyes stay fixed on the many wounds distorting it to an awful visage. He shakes his head, turns it to the side and tries to swallow down the growing disgust, but he can’t bring himself to turn his eyes away from the mirror. Without him noticing, he has opened his mouth in a scream, he screams for so long that someone comes barging through the door, it shocks him into silence. Open mouthed and wide eyed, he stares at the intruder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When recognition flickers through him, he snarls his contempt and rams into him, mindlessly punching into that steadfast body, into Obi-Wan who stays still, hand still around the door handle as he looks at him with those- those unfeeling eyes. There's pity in them and shock, but nothing else, such distant and removed emotions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Through his tears, the rapid breaths and the haze, he shouts and shouts, "You did this to me!", as his fists keep raining down against Obi-Wan’s chest, weak but persistent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan takes his hits without a single struggle, while he stares at his hideous face. He complies, until Anakin tries to push him out of the bathroom. Grabbing his arms, he squeezes down hard enough to bruise and forces them further into the bathroom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin renews his struggles, thrashing around wildly to escape Obi-Wan’s death grip, but he’s as unrelenting as steel as he pushes them so far into the room that they end up in the shower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Calm down!” Obi-Wan says, voice raised without yelling at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did this to me!” he cries out again, vision blurry through his tears as he glares at the man holding him down. “You took everything from me! You left me there to burn! Now, look at what I’ve become!” His hands slacken and he lets go of Obi-Wan’s shirt. His knees give in and he slides down to the cold, tiled ground of the shower, held up only by the hands wound around his wrists. With his head hanging low, he pulls his hands free from Obi-Wan’s weakened hold and leans forward, until his forehead too touches the cool, white tiles. “You should have just killed me,” he whispers, causing mist to form on the tiles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand grabs him by his collar and drags him up to his knees, the force of it throws his head back. A sudden spray of cold water hits his face and forces him to blink against the drops catching in his eyes, when he stares up at Obi-Wan, paralysed by the shock surging through him. All the muscles of his limbs seem to have locked up and hang uselessly from his body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan kneels down and rests his hands on Anakin’s knees, coming so close that his face comes under the never ending stream of the cold water. His hair hangs flat down his forehead, concealing his eyes from view. Unwittingly, Anakin raises an unsteady hand and brushes the hair from Obi-Wan’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The heat that had possessed him so wholly ebbs away bit by bit, the blood in veins is no longer boiling him from the inside out and his limbs are no longer phantoms that he can’t control, but his and his alone. A ragged breath slips past his quivering lips as he watches Obi-Wan turn down the handle of the shower faucet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now that the mad haze has lifted itself from before his eyes, bone deep exhaustion tugs at his agitated body and threatens to drag him down even further. “What time is it?” he croaks out, messaging his sore throat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan arches his brow and looks at him with something between amusement and irritation. It reminds him too much of that fond look of exasperation that Obi-Wan used to give him whenever he got into trouble, so he faces away from him and bites his lower lip. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s 4am in the morning,” Obi-Wan answers, brushing back the wet strands of hair that have fallen into his face again. “And I have to wake up in just two hours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Anakin averts his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan nods and stands up, giving him a hand to help him up as well. Anakin takes it without much preamble and leans on him once he’s on his feet, avoiding any and all eye contact with the man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get you back to the bedroom and you try to get some more sleep, okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin nods, knowing exactly that he won’t even dare to close his eyes for one  second. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They head back to the bedroom with him leaning against Obi-Wan for support. Once they are inside, Obi-Wan rummages through his drawers and throws underwear and thick, warm pyjamas his way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Change into these before you catch a cold,” he orders, voice gentle but strong. “If you need anything, you can find me in the living room.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Obi-Wan moves to the door and stands still with his hand around the handle. He turns back to Anakin and fixes him with a serious expression. “We’ll talk about what happened in the morning,” he says before he turns around again and leaves for good. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin’s grip tightens around the clothes in his hands as he stares at the bed with fear and anger tingeing his sight. Sleep is nothing but a curse to him, a connection to a realm that he wants nothing more than to cut from his life for eternity. What he went through tonight, it has happened before time and time again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he were back at his home, he knows exactly what he would be doing right now. He would head to the kitchen and open the drawer above the sink to get himself a glass and pack the bottle of liquor next to his fridge and pour himself drink after drink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>However, he’s not at home, is he? He is here with Obi-Wan- no, not Obi-Wan, but Ben. He keeps forgetting that little name, doesn’t he? He shakes his head and messages his temples, feeling an uncomfortable, painful throbbing thundering under his skin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, he puts on the underwear and pyjamas and falls onto the bed, hands crossed behind his neck as he stares up at the ceiling, throat aching with thirst, burning for that familiar bitterness to return, yearning for the numbness that he knows would help him through the next two hours with far more ease than he is forced to now. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>When the numbers on the watch at the bedside table change from </span>
  <em>
    <span>5:59</span>
  </em>
  <span> to </span>
  <em>
    <span>6:00, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Anakin immediately rises from the bed and walks into the kitchen, sitting down at the small, white table next to the balcony door. The kitchen itself is pretty decent, with light neutral colours and only so much furniture as is needed. His eyes flicker over the counter stacked with several fresh herbs and zero in on the countless teabags meticulously categorized by flavor. He starts thrumming his fingers against the table and tears his gaze away from them. His thrumming becomes louder, faster as he eyes each shelf, each drawer and container in this small kitchen and finds nothing to pique  his interest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin forces himself to stop and lays his hands down on the table with his fingers intertwined. He could really use a drink right now. His stomach is painfully empty, he can almost feel it contorting around nothing and yet any sight of food alone just makes him want to throw up. He would love to just pin this nausea on his raging hangover, but he’s not the type to get an upset stomach, the only price he has to pay for yesterday's alcohol is usually a bad headache in the morning. Well, the truth is that he is simply anxious, unbelievably, monstrously anxious because he will have to face that man again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The memories of the last night are still fresh and much too vivid and the flush of hot shame is truly more than he can take at the moment. He has made a complete fool of himself, but not even your average fool, but an insane and deranged one without any redeeming qualities. His only hope is that this Ben will believe him when he pushes it all off to the alcohol that had been coursing through his system. People do behave all kinds of crazy when they are absolutely plastered. His behaviour may have  been just a tad too weird, especially the stunt he had pulled just two hours ago, but who knows, maybe this version of Obi-Wan is more gullible than what he remembers from his dreams. He shivers just thinking about last night, afraid that those horrible illusions will return and drive him out of his mind again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh god,” Anakin groans and buries his face in his hands. “I’m such an idiot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t be too harsh on yourself,” Obi-Wan’s voice says from behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin turns around sharply and startles, too flustered to reply right away and chastises himself for slipping up with the names. At least he hasn’t called the man by that name out loud again. He’ll just have to be more careful from now on. “I’m sorry for tonight,” he says in the end, having returned to his prior position. “I’m usually not like… that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We all have our moments,” Ben counters as he walks further inside and sits down on the only other chair at the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin purses his lips, finding Ben’s tone to be bordering the point of being mocking, but one look at the man’s expression proves him wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean to poke fun at what you went through,” Ben says, putting his elbow on the table to rest his head on his palm. The lines of his face are relaxed, only the skin around his eyes is puffy and dark from lack of sleep, but he looks at Anakin with nothing but kindness and worry. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin averts his eyes and bites at his lips, a flush rising to his cheeks. “I know,” he mumbles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, I can’t force you to tell me what happened to you yesterday and I don’t want to force you either, but just know that I will listen to whatever you want to tell me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess I owe you an explanation. You did take me back to your home and let me crash on your bed,” Anakin starts, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I was having a bad day and decided to go out to a bar. I guess I just had too much to drink and lost my control and…” As he speaks, his words become more and more quiet, until he stops speaking altogether and before he can hold it back, a sudden sob escapes him. Shocked, he quickly clamps his mouth shut and presses his eyes close. He tries to choke back the tears, but they just keep coming and coming, it won’t stop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” he croaks out, again and again until the words can no longer be discerned. He wonders what he’s apologizing for and finds too many reasons, too many answers. He has caused so much mayhem, so much grief and pain. Anakin knows that he has to continue and he knows that it will never be enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand settles on his shoulder and begins to softly caress him, it just makes him cry harder. Of course, Obi-Wan is the one to comfort him. Of course, it is him. Anakin feels torn apart, wanting more of it and finding himself more than undeserving. But… but Obi-Wan had hurt him too, he had betrayed him as well, so maybe… maybe he can just accept this, maybe he does deserve his affection after all. Just maybe… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How about I make us some breakfast,” Obi-Wan says, crouched down right in front of him so that Anakin has to look down to see him. “I think I have some leftover pancake batter in the fridge. The kids loved it of course, but I made too much again.” He strokes his chin. “It's really hard to make the right amount for such a big class anyways, but that’s beside the point. So, what do you think?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin wipes his tears away and tries to calm down his breathing. When he feels calm enough to speak, he says, “I would like that very much.” He stares at Obi-Wan- Ben and sees his face brighten up at his answer. Anakin looks away and crosses his arms, berating himself for acting so childish. He really forced this man who knows him for less than a day to comfort him like the petulant, unconsolable child he apparently is. Ben must truly think him an idiot, he thinks with growing dismay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben works fast, putting down whatever is needed on the table while flipping two pancakes on his stove. He’s probably in such a rush to keep Anakin from falling into another bout of hysterics. Well, in less than fifteen minutes, there’s a plate full of pancakes and syrup to go with it right in front of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin thanks him for the meal and starts to nip at his first pancake, not at all hungry. It would be rude not to eat, though, so he forces himself to eat the pancakes one bite at a time, feeling Ben’s eyes on him whenever he does so. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They don’t speak at all, even after they finished tidying up the table. The silence feels more comfortable than any words they could have possibly exchanged. After some time, Anakin feels the desire to leave and spend some time alone grow stronger, until it becomes too strong to resist. He is just so unbearably tired, so incredibly exhausted. He can’t stay here any longer, he can’t think right here, not in the presence of this man, this Obi-Wan lookalike. Some quiet, inauspicious voice in him tells him that he is not a lookalike at all, but much more, but Anakin ignores it, he knows it too, but how does that change their situation? Without his memories, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>name, </span>
  </em>
  <span>what does it even matter?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Against Ben’s multiple offers and demands to stay a little while longer, he finds himself outside of his apartment and saying his goodbyes. “Thank you for everything you did for me. I hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not at all. You were having a bad time, just like you said. I think it’s more than fine to make exceptions under these circumstances, so please don’t beat yourself up over it,” Ben says, leaning against the threshold with his arm raised over his head and flour sticking to his shirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin nods and turns to leave, but Ben grabs him by his arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Before I forget,” Ben begins and presses a piece of paper into his hand. “Take this with you and hit me up if you ever need someone to talk to. I would be really… </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappointed </span>
  </em>
  <span>if I never see you again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin looks down on the number in his hand and furrows his brows. “Why?” he asks, voice tight and eyes narrowed. At Ben’s confused expression, he continues, “I behaved like a fucking nutcase and all you did was to take care of me. Why would you want to deal with that again? I’m just a total mess, a fucking lunatic! The best thing you can do is to keep your distance from me. Save yourself the trouble.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben presses himself off the door frame and straightens his back, fixing him with a serious look. “That will be my decision to make and I meant everything that I said. Please don’t hold yourself back to protect me or whatever you think that will do for me. I do want to see you again, keep that in my mind, will you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ben’s stare becomes more piercing, his eyes seem brighter than before and Anakin averts his gaze to avoid meeting it. He shakes his head, but can’t bring himself to say something. He has become useless in the face of Ben’s declaration. Just what will he do?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the silence persists, Ben adds, “Till next time,” before closing the door and leaving him there alone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anakin closes his fingers over the paper and brings his hand close to his chest, eyes fixed on the closed door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will he be able to stay away from this man?</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Anakin, honey, baby, of course you won't stay away, self-control is not your strong suit :(</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Part III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So I'm back to this story and I finally finished this chapter. I'm honestly just excited that I can finally start writing for the next one, where are all the scenes I initially wanted to write take place. </p>
<p>Anways, enjoy and let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“First, I want you to outline the seventh chapter. When you are done with that, move on to the interpretation and focus on the imagery, try to find the important leitmotifs.  You have thirty minutes, please start now,” Ben says with his back to the class. When he has finished writing up the task on the board, he quickly washes off the white chalk on his hands and sits down at his desk, taking out the last five exam papers that he has yet to correct. The students have become impatient, rightfully so. He is, after all, known for turning in the results after just a few days and now he has made them wait for over two weeks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With a quiet sigh, he turns his head to the side and gazes out of the wide windows. It’s still dark outside, so dark that the weak, yellow lights still line the streets. This late into winter, the sky will probably stay so for a class or two. He tears his eyes away and returns his focus to the papers waiting to be corrected. Massaging his temples, he takes a pen into his hand and starts reading the first lines, only to find himself just skipping the written words without comprehending one single thing. He can’t bring himself to concentrate, so he drops the pen and leans back against his chair, unwittingly returning to the dark morning sky. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ben has never been so absentminded before. The days pass him by and the daily routine that had offered him so much comfort and ease in the past has become more and more dull, painfully so. Never before has he been so aware of the fact that nothing around him changes. He spends each day in the same class, teaching the same subject to the same assemblance of students. He’s stuck in a limbo. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A few days prior, this limbo had been his everything, but now there is something missing, something important and he can’t name it, can’t put a face on it either, he just knows that it started a day after that young and painfully beautiful man left his apartment. Since then he has been having bizarre dreams of a childhood that he knows cannot be his, but each moment that he recalls from those visions feels just as hazy and familiar as his own memories. He dreams of an endless sea of friends, of kind elders offering advice after advice and of an older man taking him under his wings, teaching him everything he knows, a man who caused him joy and heartache alike. Those dreams feel so warm and serene, there is such an indescribable sense of wonder he receives from them, he has never before anticipated falling asleep as much as he does now. For all of the impossible things that may happen in them, there is such a keen feeling of belonging that he was deprived of in the walls of the orphanage he grew up in that he can’t help but want to return to that warm, content place in his dreams. A home, a family… </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If he could, he would sleep away most of his days and that makes him worry. Is he losing his grip on reality? Is he so dissatisfied with his current life that his subconscious has created a whole universe for him to escape to? What does it all mean and why did it start after he met that troubled youth? If only he knew his name, if only he had his number, then he could finally find answers to these daft questions… and see if he is alright. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had called him </span>
  <em>
    <span>Obi-Wan, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the same name he carries in his dreams and that simply cannot be a coincidence. Ben has to find him, but there is no tangible way to accomplish such a feat. No name, no number, no address, not one single useful information. The only location he knows is that bar. Maybe he should just go there tonight and hope he’ll see him again. That sounds like a solid plan. But first he has to finish grading these papers before his students begin revolting in earnest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ben lets his eyes wander over his students, some deeply ingrained in the book in front of them, some busy with everything but their task and a few somewhere in between and ends up looking at the lone pen lying across the dishevelled papers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Neglecting his duties for something as feasible as a dream, just what has become of him? This is so unlike him, he can’t recognize himself. He swallows against the building lump in his throat and tries to stifle the guilt trying to bubble to the surface. These dreams are becoming harder and harder to resist, some of them feel more profound, more intense than his real life. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But in the end, this isn’t just about some dreams, is it? He can still hear that man’s voice in his ears, screaming one horrible accusation after another at him, breaking down right in front of him, telling him that he should have </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, how is he supposed to go on with his life after that? He has to find him. It’s the right thing, the only thing to do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Street lights shine through the thick, strained windows of the bar and light the seedy, dark ground in weak hues of red and yellow. It’s been the only thing to pique his interest in this place filled with unknown faces, staggering bodies and the stink of sweat and liquor. He stands at the periphery, behind an invisible border that keeps him separate from the boisterous crowd, a still onlooker quietly, slowly losing his hope for the night.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And after one hour of searching through the crowd and two hours of leaning against the wall while playing with the glass from his first and only drink, he is finally readying himself to cave in and leave. The chances of meeting the young man he had picked up weeks ago had been close to zero from the very beginning. Ben would have to have an inhuman amount of luck to meet him during his first night out and he has never been one to be graced with such fortune. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, he will have to make up for his lack of fortune with his persistence. Tomorrow is a new day, a new night and a new chance to stumble across the angry and beautiful man who had managed to crash into his life one day and take his sanity with him the moment he had left. But in the meantime, he will sleep and he will dream. Ben will return to that otherworldly realm and become Obi-Wan once more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The next night starts much later, afternoon classes and the next bout of exams forced his hand, but he doesn’t mind, too exhausted after a long day to be sore about something so inconsequential. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before he takes the same position next to the strained window, the only position that allows him free sight of the bar counter and the standing tables without having to actually meddle with the crowd, he goes right up to the counter and makes his first order for the night, needing something stronger than what he had the night before. With the glass dangling from his fingers, he returns to the wall and leans back against it, tilting his head back as he takes in the colourful ray of light to his left. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He tears his gaze away from the light and lets it glide across the few people milling about, fewer than they were yesterday. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and allows his latest dream to rewind in front of him, aching for a different reason altogether. How could a dream’s face instill so much grief in him? There was nothing to mourn, nothing lost yet, but he knows that there are bad things waiting to happen, he has gotten this sense of danger before. That face, it was just the face of a young girl. Satine was her name and Ben can easily understand why this ‘Obi-Wan’ had fallen in love with her as a teenager, but then he had left her and returned to his home, his family, leaving his heart somewhere else. Will he lose her too? Is this what this dream world has set in motion for him? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ben shakes his head and opens his eyes, willing the images of her face away. He huffs out a breath and rubs his temples, fingers growing more rough as his frustration builds. His dreams are growing not just in frequency but also length. They are much more detailed the later into Obi-Wan's life they get, it’s almost as if he is recalling a life he has not actually lived. These feel no different to his own memories, if anything, they feel more real than his own. It’s starting to scare him, just a little, just enough to make him wary. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He has to find that man, he has to get answers, he has to know why this all started, but as the minutes tick by, he knows that tonight is not the night that they will meet again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A week has passed and this solid plan of his has revealed itself as nothing more than a failure. It just robs him of his sleep and depletes what energy he has to almost nothing and so he stops going there. He stops going to school. He stops leaving his house. He stops leaving his bed. All he does is sleep and fall deeper into that realm of his dreams with each passing hour.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Can you relive a past life? It seems so to him. After all, that's what's happening to him, there is no way to deny it anymore. He has mourned the death of his Master anew, feared for the future of the galaxy and the Order once more and felt the burden of his great responsibility as if he still carries it on his shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But despite the wars raging on, the countless deaths he's been witness to, the sheer despair and grief of the victims of this never ending battle, there is a presence in his life that makes it bearable. A presence that fills him with hope and gives him the strength to carry on even in his bleakest, most deplorable moments. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A presence that encompasses so many beautiful things in one. A student to shelter, a partner to fight side by side with, a friend to lean on, a brother to love… To have someone mean so much to you, it's a rare gift indeed. One he has never had in this life. Oh, he has had many friends and many of them have been very dear to him, but this is different, it's almost too much and he wonders how he had let it come so far in that past life. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, after so many weeks of searching and despairing, he has a name. A name!</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Anakin Skywalker.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The bane of his existence. The one love of his life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, if only he had known him before, he would have never let him go so easily.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the initial rush, after the quick ascent comes the fall, a descent so fast and brutal that he hasn't even had the time to notice that he has been falling all along and now he lies on the cold, hard ground, skin ripped apart, bones broken to pieces and his head cracked open. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ben should have never allowed himself to fall this far. To give up on his </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a dream that would only destroy him in the end. How foolish! How selfish! If only he hadn't been so blinded, if only he had seen the blaring warning signs, if only the end could have been different.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>God, he has to get himself together. The more he binds himself to his current life, the easier it will be to let go of this horrible dream world. He has to return to his work, he has to answer the missed calls, the many ignored messages, the letters filling up a mailbox he hasn't bothered to open in weeks. But first, he has to get out of this bed, out of this apartment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ben throws the blanket off of his body and quickly stands up from the bed, stumbling on misused legs as he rushes to the bathroom. He slams the door open and moves towards the sink, leaning on it with both of his arms for a moment before he turns up the tap and splashes his face with ice cold water. His eyes begin to sting as droplets of the water fly into them, but he cannot close them, for he knows what he will see and that image alone will render him weak again and steal away his new resolve. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ben hits the shower and mechanically cleans himself, rushing as to not lose this fight so early on. He dresses himself the same way, picking his thickest jeans and a pullover to go with it and then he’s out, grabbing his phone on his way out, momentarily glad that he has at least bothered to charge it a day before. Once he has reached the streets, he breathes in the fresh, biting air of the night. Letting go of the warmth and ridding himself of the dust he had gathered in his home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With no destination in mind, he begins to walk down the streets. It comes as no surprise at all when he ends up standing across the street of that run down bar. Through the stained windows, he can only catch glimpses and blurred silhouettes of the life inside. He can already imagine the crowd with vivid details, the few regulars who know not to bother him, the colours of the reflected lights, he has spent who knows how long trapped inside that building, waiting for his own doom, of course he remembers it so wholly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Had he only accelerated his descent with each night he returned here or would the same have happened had he clung to his own current life? There is no answer to this question, but he still mulls over it from time to time, unable to keep himself from tormenting himself with all the possible answers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ben crosses the street, not bothering to look to his left or right. He stands still once he reaches the entrance to the bar, hand already raised to push the door open, but he doesn't and the door stays closed, it starts to swing on its own as if to mock him for his hesitation. A small, defeated smile forms on his face. He won't go inside. He won't wait anymore. He won't sacrifice anymore of his life to this impossible quest. Has he not given enough of himself already? Does he have to repeat the same mistakes as this </span>
  <em>
    <span>Obi-Wan?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Can't he move along a path that's his and his alone? Can he bear to let </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> go?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ben draws away from the entrance and walks away from the bar, head lowered and eyes on nothing but the ground. The street lights seem brighter this night, illuminating even the smallest fissures in the cobblestone. The shadows are sharper too, darker, pitch black. The next step doesn't come, he's struck still, looking at this shadow caught in the narrow alleyway that’s trapped between two towering buildings. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Unwittingly, Ben steps into this darkness. Is this not the place they had first touched each other? Has this been the igniter? The start of it all? Ben doesn't know, even this question remains without any answers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He crouches down, fingertips moving softly across the wall of this alleyway's building, across its bricks, the cement in between. He opens his eyes, wondering when he had closed them, and stands up, dusting off his hands on his jeans. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A sudden shrill sound disrupts the quiet of the dark alleyway and it repeats and repeats until he finally registers it as his ringtone. Feeling numb and cold, he takes his phone out of his pocket and accepts the call, pressing his phone to his ear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hello?" he says, eyes still on the wall.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Ben?” A long, silent pause follows, but Ben knows better than to end the call. “I tried to stay away but I can't anymore. I- I need to see you again, but only if you let me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Anakin," he says, uttering his name as if to caress him, voice reverent and too fragile in the cold darkness of this alleyway. His hand moves to his chest, fingers buried in his pullover. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Anakin," he repeats and the next thing he hears is a loud beep. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The call has ended.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Ben stares at the display of his phone and smiles and smiles some more before he breaks out in laughter. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Anakin, are you so afraid of me knowing?</span>
  </em>
</p>
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